Oceans of Truth and Lies
by pleasesayitsnotso
Summary: Based on some scenes in Captain America: The Winter Soldier (Spoiler Alert) between Steve and Natasha and their inner battles with their feelings and separation.
1. Oceans of Truth and Lies

_"__Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too-even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."- Mitch Albom_

* * *

As Steve glanced up he caught sight of the red head, in a despondent like trance, a dead look in her stare conveyed an unfocused Natasha. Something which he had never beheld before, and incited a feeling of uneasiness and unrest. Natasha was unlike any woman he had ever met, her resilience and strength emanated from every particle of her being, and it had become somewhat of a comfort. Whenever he felt out of depth or uneasy, he looked to her for the steadiness that grounded him, and made him at ease within a time he was not born into. She was his anchor in a storm of technology, war and chaos in the modern age. Therefore this aura of a woman out of character prompted him to question the source of this disturbance, something that was rarely contemplated when it came to Natasha,

"You ok?" The sound of Steve entering the room had drawn her from her thoughts, and she resumed towelling her hair,

"Yeah." However he noted an unconvincing waver in her delivery of her response, and she tried to cut off any further conversation by averting her gaze back to the spot she had been staring at previously. He was used to the iron walls that Natasha frequently built, however the weakness in her voice alerted him further to the need to pry. He continued drying his hands, shifting the towel from one hand to the next in preparation for his next approach, before finally flinging it on to the floor of the bathroom, and with a sigh stepping into the room. With, what Natasha regarded as an intrusive move, he crossed the space between them, her eyes flickered up to him and her brow creased as she prepared herself for the discomfort that this conversation would surely bring.

As he sat down, bringing his face to her level, the crease in her brow eased, and although she felt disgusted at how vulnerable she was right now, his close proximity brought with it a feeling of serenity and calm which she welcomed. She would never admit to anyone, but Steve brought something that she rarely encountered, a sense of virtue and innocence that within this world of darkness gave her light and hope when she felt she had truly lost herself. When she truly thought that she was consumed by the dripping red, that was her ledger a gentle smile bestowed by Rodgers guided her out of the shadows that haunted her. She was reminded that within the ocean of blood, murder and vengeance, that the ever-forgiving light of the stars would guide her to safety. He was the constellation, that pulled her from the murky depths of obscurity.

His crystal blue eyes, met hers of stormy grey as he softly ushered,

"What's going on?" And in that instant she felt the walls that had guarded her so well for all these years, disintegrate and a swell within her chest pushed against the walls of her heart. As if despite the limitations of her mind, biologically her body needed to share a part of her with him, whether she consented or not. He patiently waited for her response not pushing not pulling, no expectations just concern. After a brief moment she pulled herself back to the present,

"When I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I thought that I was going straight." She nodded her head in affirmation, as if to confirm to herself that it was the right thing to do. It also brought with it a sense of control, something she felt little of in this instance. Yet again he noted her eyes wonder out the window, as if to avoid the confrontation that was occurring, something which concerned him greatly as it was often Natasha who relished confrontation,

"But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra." She hushed as her eyes glided back Steve, before she gently lowered her gaze in shame. How could she a woman built on lies, have the audacity to stare into the face of a man sculpted by honour and truth. A sigh leaked from her lips, as her heart pounded,

"I thought I knew whose lies I was telling but..." She shook her head, a half-hearted smirk forming across her face as she tried to build a shield from the remnants of her walls, before her eyes finally reached his,

"I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business." An echo of what she had said in the car briefly shocked her before a smile crept upon her face. Steve was glad he had chosen to crack a joke; he felt that the weight of the conversation had increased by tenfold. Plus on the rare occasions that Natasha smiled, she positively glowed, and right now that was the only thing he could do to ease the betrayal they both felt.

As she averted her gaze to his tender smile, she felt the weight of all her lies collapse on her. All her life lies had kept her safe and made her feel in control, and now she had found out that in fact lies had also lead her into the uncertainty that was the present. Her lies had fabricated her very being, and now she felt them slacking and unravelling at an alarming rate. The man presented before her, who personified truth and valour had in fact saved her from the peril of deception, another debt she felt she would never be able to repay. With that lingering thought she was brought to the present with a violent slam to the realisation that Steve had saved her without knowing a single slice of truth about her,

"I owe you." She uttered, he firmly shook his head in response,

"It's okay." She now felt that this was time to ask the question that had started to eat away at her, an itch she could never scratch,

"If it was the other way round, and it was down to me to save your life. You be honest with me... would you trust me to do it?" Their stares bore into each other. Natasha enraptured by the wonderment of how this man could ever trust her, and how he could ever find something within her that was worth saving. Steve on the other hand was stunned by her question, this conversation had already unearthed more from the red head than he thought possible, and he could not deny that there were many moments when he distrusted her judgement and decisions. But they were still alive, and she had been a significant part of that,

"I would now." He stated. Natasha felt all the tension in her muscles release and felt a fluttering in her stomach which she quickly put pain to. She had no time to feel, nor did she deserve it. She didn't deserve the trust and friendship this man bestowed and offered, and she knew she never would. Steve leaned forward lightly tapping her knee playfully with his hand as he smirked and said,

"And I'm always honest." She let a grin creep across her face; a grin that Steve wished was a permanent fixture as it ignited a sparkle in her eyes that captured his heart and twisted it ever so slowly, inducing a relenting but addictive ache, that he craved. He dared not to interrupt this moment between them but inexplicably found his hand moving upwards to cup her face. Their eyes never broke focus from each other and Steve was surprised to see that Natasha didn't flinch from his touch, as his thumb gently stroked the contour of her cheek. Natasha was surprised to find her hand had wrapped itself around Steve's other hand that was placed in his lap, the yearning throughout her body betrayed her emotional defences and she felt herself fall into his touch,

"I made breakfast... if you guys need that sort of thing." Sam abruptly announced. They had ripped apart from each other as soon as they heard Sam's footsteps approaching, and now all that remained was the slight heat that radiated from each other's touch and the unforgiving loss they both now felt.


	2. Flight of Fear for the Future

_**"No more words. We know them all, all the words that should not be said. But you have made my world more perfect."**__ ― __**Terry Pratchett**_

* * *

_"__Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love."_ _- George Eliot_

In that instant they became lost in each other's eyes as a whimsical smile crept across both of their faces, neither wanted to admit to the storm of emotions and feelings that swirled beneath their facades. They had been through a lot, and those experiences did not come without considerable emotional baggage and connotations. Natasha took in the form of the gallant man before her, his sapphire eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the sun's rays, however they were tinted with the gloss of a man who had seen much more than his youthful looks inferred. His golden hair was tousled and the brown leather jacket he donned regularly enhanced his broad shoulders, small waist and toned abdomen. He was the epitome of masculine excellence, enhanced by his kind, gentle and courteous character he fulfilled the dream man for many women around the world, perhaps even including herself.

Natasha gently placed her hand on his shoulder and gracefully leaned forward pressing her lips gently to his cheek, he obliged to the action moving to meet her half way and tilting his head to allow her access to his cheek. The warmth of her kiss now not only seared onto his lips but now his cheek, as if she was purposefully trying to mark him, leaving him reminders to never forget her. The tenderness of the action stunned Steve and as they slowly moved apart he looked at her in suppressed astonishment. She responded with a gentle smile, a rarity in itself, he captured it and locked it away within in his memory, because how long was it going to be before her saw her again. Would he see her again? He memorized the way her vermillion tresses brushed over her sharp cheekbones, framing her face perfectly before meeting her strong shoulders. Her eyes glinted with defiance, mischief and mystery, and her porcelain skin enhanced their brilliance. She was unequivocally an exemplar model of an independent and deadly woman; one with whom he wished would allow herself the chance of happiness.

Natasha felt amused at Steve's startled reaction, and she convinced herself that's why she did it, because she loved to do the unexpected it kept people guessing and allowed her to keep them at a comfortable distance. She was kidding herself of course, throughout their time together she had become quite attached to the Captain and to the calmness he emanated. She was fire, wild, un-predictable and ferocious whilst Steve was the ocean calm, reassuring and forever there embracing every element of her being. Although they were considered polar opposites, they intertwined creating an intricate pattern between dark and light, hot and cold, a perfect contrast. Natasha broke the moment by turning abruptly and started to walk away before stopping and turning to him,

"Be careful Steve, you might not want to pull on that thread." From the moment she saw that Steve had recognised the Winter Soldier as James Barnes she saw the crack in his armour, and how the vivid crystal blue of his eyes had degenerated into pools of dull grey at the sight of what was now a shadow of his best friend. In her identity and recognition of his weakness, she had found her own and that was enough to indicate it was time to leave. She turned swiftly on her heel and marched purposefully away from him. Steve had noted the dead pan delivery of her heeding however it did not diminish in anyway its meaning, she wanted him to be careful, she wanted him to not get hurt; and that meant more than he thought. As he watched her move away from him he found himself not moving, and surprisingly, hoping that she'd turn around one last time, because that always happened right? In the movies, as two people parted the one walking away looked back and the inclination of redemption was passed wordlessly between them, tying them together with a bond that would bridge the absence felt throughout their future lives until they meet again.

Natasha increased the pace of her walk, knowing that if she faltered just once she wouldn't be able to leave. Without even turning her head she knew that Steve would be stood watching her, waiting for a sign that they would see each other again. She couldn't bestow that promise upon him, if she couldn't keep it she could not handle being the origin of any emotional pain Steve endured. It wasn't until she had nearly reached her car that she realised her hands had been curled tightly into fists and her nails had marked her palms with semi-circular indents, with a sigh she glanced at Steve's motor bike that was parked up and pulled open her car door. Their time was over.

As Natasha faded into the far off distance not once did her head turn, and he knew he should've known better than to expect any notion of hope for reconciliation. He knew she had already revealed too much of herself to him, and that her fear of the intimacy that had developed between them had ignited her fight or flight response. **This moment was her choice**.


	3. A Vicious Absence

_"__I guess that's what saying good-bye is always like — like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you're in the air, there's nothing you can do but let go." – Lauren Oliver_

* * *

As the sun's rays relentlessly beat upon Steve's broad shoulders, a bead of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead over the contour of his cheek, a stern and focused expression that was usually displayed during combat and in the dark depths of a mission was painted across his face. However his concentration and pace was abruptly interrupted as he caught glimpse of a figure with porcelain skin, but with the form of someone who could not only entice but eradicate anyone in her wake. Although the one outstanding feature was her brazen vermillion tresses that swayed in response to the motion of her hips as she walked. Steve stopped. Over the past few weeks he had frequently found that his mind, when not consumed by the whereabouts of his childhood friend, had taken to being engrossed by the enigma that was Natasha Romanoff. He frequently found himself yearning for the companionship that Natasha had provided through a period of unequivocal betrayal and deception. The way she steadied him without even having to utter a word, just by her mere presence within his vicinity, or a glance from those deep verdant orbs made him feel secure within a time enraptured in inconsistency. Upon instinct Steve sprinted in pursuit of the woman, as he approached her swaying form he felt a surge of hope and expectation press sharply upon his rib cage, and it wasn't until he looked upon the young woman's startled face that he recognised the pain within his chest was now of a completely different nature. **It wasn't her**.

* * *

Natasha landed another blow to the punch bag hanging in her room, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down the nape of her neck. Although heat radiated off every inch of Natasha a very different story was to be told through the window, as the snow flitted down towards the street below in a twirl of icy splendour. Natasha paused, and scraped her, now dark mahogany, locks away from her face into a scruffy bun, and aggressively grabbed the water bottle settled on the table. Once she met the window she took a swig, and listened to the incessant beating of her adrenalized heart. She looked down on the tenebrous surroundings, lit inadequately by a few street lamps whose glow captured the innocence of the swirling flurry as it rested on the ground below. A low growl that echoed within her ears and the emptiness of the encompassing walls broke her lackadaisical overview of the street below. Turning her head she saw the incoming of a motorbike she identified instinctively as belonging to a certain broad shouldered soldier, who emanated class and the old fashioned values it brought with it. Without knowing it her knuckles on the hand clutching the water bottle had turned a brilliant white, and her breathe had unknowingly caught within her throat. It wasn't until the man removed his helmet revealing a lustrous raven mop of curly hair, that she let out a unexpected long, heavy breathe and she felt the cold trickle of water wrapping around her knuckles due to her overly forceful grip. **It wasn't him**.

* * *

Fighting the sinking feeling within his chest Steve managed to force out a genial apology,

"Sorry ma'm my mistake." Before turning swiftly and breaking out into a run at a blistering pace, with the wish to induce any other physical pain that could override the slight ache that now plagued his heart. He cursed himself inwardly at what had been now the sixth time this week his thoughts had been interrupted by the ruthless red head. He didn't know whether he was more disgusted at the fact he had fallen for the notion that she would be in the same place as he, or the fact he had let himself feel the irrevocable glow of hope at the thought of her return. He had deduced from the little information he had gleaned from Natasha that she was a woman who let the past be the past, no turning back. That was who she was.

* * *

Natasha slammed the bottle onto the windowsill and marched with purpose towards the punching bag before swinging her leg and forcefully kicking the centre of the bag and erupting into a whirlwind of kicks and punches. Each blow increased in force each time, accompanied by the aggressive vocals that leaked from Natasha's lips. She had always been taught that any inner emotional conflicts were to be transferred into a physical outlet, whether it be merely exercising or becoming the deadly weapon that many had feared. She was angry at the thought that for a moment she had let the idea of seeing him again take control of her, that was not who she was. She was angry that she could not forget the many ways he had saved her; the way his fingers had entwined with hers; and the way those eyes of true blue had bore into her tortured soul. With that thought she struck the punching bag with a kick so forcible the bag detached from the ceiling landing with a large thud at her feet. This was who she was meant to be.

* * *

As Steve walked into his room, the sweat driving out of every pore in his body, he went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and took a sip. He noticed on his table a few sketches he had absentmindedly scrawled during his morning coffee, they were all of female figures and each one had unintentionally captured the unforgiving curves of her form; the way her smile drifted across her lips in a positively charming manner; and the way her eyes sparkled with vicious beauty. With one hand he collected up all the sketches and placed them in the bin. **No more. For Bucky's sake.**


End file.
